


From Gaudy Corridors in Rich Peoples' Mansions

by Skyuni123



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: (except they're not because i can't write sex scenes), Adventure, Bad Jokes, F/F, First Kiss, Fuck Or Die, Humor, Satire of that darn trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9571148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: “When we bust the ghost and get out of here alive, want to repeat that… experiment? Preferably in a place with bedsheets?”





	

 So, they’re at a billionaire’s mansion for an incredibly important fashion gala.

When she’d signed up to be a scientist, donned her gear, lost an eyebrow or two, and blown up more things that she could count, Jillian Holtzmann had never quite expected _this._

But when ghosts call, people listen, and sometimes those people are the Ghostbusters.

(Not always, mind, but sometimes. That weird phone call with the breathing could still be a ghost. Or a murderer. Let’s be real, your chances aren’t great.)

Damien Sheldrake is a billionaire with his money mostly tied up in investments. Or something. At this point, Holtzmann doesn’t really care. She wants to bust the ghost, escape the **very** fancy **very** expensive **very ‘** don’t you dare break anything, Holtzmann’ mansion, and take this damn dress off. Preferably in that order. Satin is scratchy but she prefers it over public nudity.

 

When Abby had said, “We’ve got two ghost calls, you and Erin go to the Sheldrake mansion party thing,” and pointed at her, Holtzmann had pouted. Patty had too, but for completely different reasons.

“A billionaire’s place? You know how much rich peoples’ parties suck.” She had then downloaded another dog meme to add to her growing collection that she was going to stick to her blackboard. The internet was fine, yes, but certain objects deserved _permanence._

“Ya know Holtzy won’t appreciate it.” Patty had said. “Let me go. I want to dress up.”

Holtzmann eyed Abby. “See, she _wants_ to go.”

“Nope. Patty’s coming with me.” Abby replied.

And thus, her decision was final.

 

So now, Holtzmann is on an upper level of a mansion that she definitely shouldn’t be on. The first floor had been labelled ‘Guests Only’, with ‘No Entry’ signs on the staircases leading upwards but she never really pays attention to signs.

Plus, the readings seem to be coming from the top floor. The Sheldrake mansion _seems_ safe, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Ghosts, like bugs and religious callers, have a habit of coming out of nowhere.

She’s not buzzed, not really. She had had a couple of glasses of champagne downstairs (because, hey, live in the moment!) but her head is mostly clear. _Mostly_ being the operative word. She’s warm, a little lightheaded, and very itchy.

She wonders if she’s got an allergy to satin.

Erin walks up when she’s scratching at her elbow. “Any luck?” She asks bluntly.

No nonsense. Straight to the point. It’s a quality that Holtzmann admires in her, even if she doesn’t like it in herself.

“Nah. Think we’re going to have to go further up.” She scratches harder at her elbow and beckons for her to follow her down the corridor. “Tell me. Do you think that I could have a satin allergy?”

“…Probably not?” Erin hikes her dress up a bit to avoid catching it on her shoes and follows.

“Mmmmm.” Holtzmann replies, very non-committedly. “Seen any guards yet? You would think they-“

“Yes. I had to hide in a janitor’s closet to avoid them.”

“Hiding in a closet?” Holtzmann says, raising an eyebrow at her. “Sounds like you.”

“Shut up.” Erin shoots her a look that is probably meant to resemble annoyance, but it morphs into fond soon enough. “I told you that in confidence.”

“And we’re standing alone in a corridor. I’m _pretty sure_ that’s still ‘in confidence’.”

“Perhaps.” Erin gives her a long suffering sigh. “Do you think this is a Category Three? The readings seem high enough.”

“Hey, hey, don’t change the subject.” Holtzmann pokes her in the arm with her monitor. “With that in mind, seen anyone you like lately?”

Erin shoots her a Look that is part exasperated, part amused. “Is that an offer?”

Holtzmann snorts and backpedals quickly. Gaudy Corridors at Rich People’s Mansions are not the time to be realising such things. “Not at all. I’m just not super keen on you ending up in the arms of Kevin, eh.”

Erin stops walking and glances at her curiously. Her tone even, she says, “Who I chose to date is my prerogative, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but _c’mon.”_ Holtzmann busies herself with scanning one of the walls. “He’s about as sharp as a bowling ball.”

“He’s not _that_ bad.”

“I love the guy, but you two would be a _terrible_ match.” She says, very matter-of-factly, and shuts the scanner off. “It’d be like Hermione and Ron all over again.” She heads off down the corridor, having found nothing of interest. She’s not trying to be bitter, but she thinks it’s coming out that way. Kevin might have won the genetic lottery, at least looks wise, but he’s not talented enough for Erin. He’s not _good_ enough for Erin. Not many people are.

“In what way?”

“…it’s not as though they were equals on the intellectual spectrum.” She’s abruptly jerked around to face Erin. “Ugf- …what?!”

“Relationships don’t necessarily have to be built on intellect alone.” Erin puts her hands on her hips. She looks oddly… angry(??) considering the circumstances.

Holtzmann laughs harshly under her breath, “And only wanting to be with Kevin because he’s hot is any better?” She turns away and moves to continue down the corridor but is stopped by a hand on her arm, nails almost digging in.

“You don’t get to dictate my relationships. It’s my life.”

 

“I totally respect your right to do what you want wit-”

“Shut up.” Erin hisses under her breath.

Holtzmann snaps around to face her. “What have I done n-”

“Shut up!” Erin hisses again and points back down the long corridor. At the very end, facing away from them, there’s a man with an assault rifle slung over the expanse of his wide back. He’s between them and the staircase, and there’s only a few alcoves between them and the very end of the corridor.

There is nowhere for them to go and they _definitely_ shouldn’t be up here.

“What do we do now?” Holtzmann mouths, looking around for an escape. The guard is yet to spot them, but the giant assault rifle is less than reassuring.

Erin points at a door just down the corridor, grabs her wrist tightly, and drags her towards it just as the guard begins to turn around.

The room is small. It’s got a flat wooden table that rises to about a meter high, and some bookshelves, but nothing else. There’s absolutely no sort of cover.

In hindsight, this call might have been a very bad idea.

Erin leans back onto the table, ponders for a second and then blurts, “Kiss me.”

“I’m very flattered, but is now really the time?” Holtzmann asks. To say that she is ‘mildly taken aback’ is an understatement. It’s not that she’s never considered the idea, because people are Attractive and Erin even more so, but… “Almost certain maim-ment or incarceration doesn’t exactly lend itself to a quick romantic tête-à-tête.”

“ _No_ , you idiot. Physical displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Anyone sane would leave us be and move on.” Erin insists.

She’s not so sure. In fact, her words sound oddly familiar… “Are you paraphrasing from Captain America? Come on.”

Erin blushes and sets her jaw. “If needs must.”

The fact that she’s even seen _Captain America_ is a thought that Holtzmann needs to file away for later pondering. She rolls her eyes and says. “Fuck it. If we’re going to die, you’re hot and there’s worse ways to go.” Considering the circumstances, she doesn’t really stop to consider the meaning of her words if she _does_ survive the encounter with the guard. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, kids.

Besides, she’s a little bit tipsy, and at this point, why the fuck not?

“So what th-“ She doesn’t even have the time to finish her sentence because she’s being solidly and pretty darn resoundingly kissed.

And look, she’s been kissed before. She might even go so far as to call herself a ‘kissing sexpert’ if she hated the English language as much as some people tend to. She’s had bad kisses too – that time with Jimmy Nelsen in third grade being an experiment she has banished to the deepest corners of her mind – but, fucking hell Erin.

She’s suddenly regretful that this is the _first_ time they’ve kissed.

Someone moans under their breath and she’s pretty sure that someone is her.

Somewhere in the back vestiges of her mind, she remembers that something is supposed to be happening. Something important is happening. A voice that echoes fuzzily in her head almost as though she is underwater says, “What the fu- I’m- I-I don’t- I’ll just go.” There is an abrupt click that sounds like a door shutting.

 

Holtzmann knows she’s flushed when they break apart.

 

In the gloom of the room she can see Erin’s eyes glistening. She thumbs over her bottom lip and says coyly, “Not bad. Ye of little faith.” She’s definitely sure Erin’s hair didn’t look that mussed when they first entered the room.

Holtzmann huffs out a laugh. “Once. Your theory worked once. For all we know, the guy could be standing outside this room, waiting for us to stop making out.” She doesn’t quite know _how_ she feels. Today has been an adventure, in more ways than one. She smooths a hand over her hair, noting how it’s managed to stay pretty much intact.

“Still, it worked.” Erin says smugly. She raises an eyebrow at her and something dark glitters beneath the surface in her eyes. “ _When_ we bust the ghost and get out of here alive, want to repeat that… experiment? Preferably in a place with bedsheets?”

“If you wanted to get me into your linen cupboard, Gilbert, all you had to do was ask.”

 

Pleasantly enough, they’re not greeted by someone with an assault rifle when they leave the room. Even more pleasantly, the ghost is a Category Two and incredibly easy to bust. And hey, although rich peoples’ parties do suck (yours notwithstanding, of course), sometimes the best part of life is the company that you keep.

Also, making out to escape certain death. That bit is pretty cool too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on the tumbs
> 
>  
> 
> [my gb blog](http://pansexualjillianholtzmann.tumblr.com)   
> [my main blog](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)
> 
> [or the twitter](http://twitter.com/skyuni123)


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